


fly

by talesofthelotus



Series: XINGTOBER 2020 [14]
Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Dreams, Gen, Implied Mutilation, Implied Relationships, M/M, Wingfic, unnamed character - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-19
Updated: 2020-10-19
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:34:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27102787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/talesofthelotus/pseuds/talesofthelotus
Summary: in his dreams, he flies.
Series: XINGTOBER 2020 [14]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1959373
Comments: 2
Kudos: 12





	fly

_A dream_.

He is standing on the edge of a mountain. Around him, wind howls, but he is not touched by it. Under his bare feet is snow.

He leans, and leans, and leans. This is a dream, he realises, when he leans too far and doesn’t fall.

He is not cold, despite the frigid breeze combing her fingers through his hair, curling through his loose sleep-clothes, brushing against his flight-feathers. He closes his eyes, and leans a little more. For a moment, he is free-falling.

And then, he spreads his wings.

(He watches himself glide through snowy peaks.)

_A dream_.

He is in outer space. The Blue Marble looms before him, against an expanse of deep, full black. He is alone, but not lonely.

He floats past a little star, cups it in his hands. This is a dream, he realises, as if the concept of being in the crushing vacuum of space in just his sleep-clothes would be real. It is a little star twinkling in his palm that makes him realise, _this is a dream_ , because stars are not this small.

He turns. Like swimming, he swims through the black expanse of space. The Moon is a white pockmarked marble ahead of him. He swims toward it, like swimming through a chlorine-blue pool, and the Moon is the white tiled end of the pool.

There is no wind in space, but he spreads his wings, and feels the wind in his flight feathers.

(To the Moon, then Venus, then Mars, and all the way to Neptune.)

_A memory...?_

“███ _! Race you to the waterfall!”_

—he yells, leaping off the branch and spreading his wings. The person behind him cackles and makes a swipe for his foot. When he looks back, they are just a blurry shape, features indistinct. All but their brilliant red wings are unclear, like paint scraped away with a knife.

He _knows_ them, he _knows_ , but can’t remember.

“You cheater!” they yell. Yixing giggles, snapping a fruit off the tree as he flies. He hurls the soft fruit at the person behind—his friend. They are his friend.

No, closer than friends. He can’t remember. It is not this long to the waterfall, but all around him are the green blurs of the jungle trees. Blurs of bright colour are the sweet smelling flowers and juice-filled fruit and little multicolour animals of the jungle.

He turns back, and sees his friend’s eyes: Black. Pupils, irises, sclera—

Pitch black.

He gasps—

And wakes up.

The sun filters through the large window by his bed. He lies on his back, staring at the ceiling. From the little radio on his side table, the neutral voice of an announcer: _President calls for the help of his loyal citizens. If you see a winged one, be sure to alert authorities, for it is a rebel who has refused the benevolent help of our President._

Underneath his sleep-clothes, around his chest, a swathe of bandages.

And underneath the bandages, wounds—

Where his wings once were.


End file.
